


every morning you greet me

by ohfiitz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Drowning, F/M, Memory Loss, trigger warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfiitz/pseuds/ohfiitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is both foreign and familiar, unrecognizable but real. Yes. That’s what she feels like. Real. Like she’s the only concrete and present piece of him he can afford at the moment and he feels that she’s enough, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every morning you greet me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anthropologicality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthropologicality/gifts).



He’s drowning.

He’s surrounded by water and he feels weightless, powerless against the waves. He’s sinking and floating at the same time and he tries to move his hands, tries to paddle his way out of the endless stretch of ocean trapping him but he can’t, and he’s drowning.

He doesn’t find the surface, but instead wakes up in a hospital bed in a state of panic, sweating and panting and groping for anything to usher him back to reality.

He feels a hand steadying him and a soft, reassuring whisper that says “Shh Fitz, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He can’t place a name on the voice but the tenderness in it alone makes him believe what it’s saying.

Fitz looks up and sees her, a woman he knows but doesn’t recognize.  

“Do you want me to sing you a song?” she asks with a tired smile, like she’s done this a thousand times before. And maybe she has, he can’t be really sure.

‘Memory loss’ is what everyone calls it, but he thinks it’s too cruel a term to describe his situation, because he doesn’t quite feel the absence of it, of memory. He feels memories bubbling up inside him, spewing and insisting and fighting to overflow, yet never quite reaching his brain to help him truly remember.

Sometimes he remembers snippets—moments or names or people—and most of them involve her, the girl with the tired eyes and the bright smile. She is both foreign and familiar, unrecognizable but real.  _Yes._ That’s what she feels like. Real. Like she’s the only concrete and present piece of him he can afford at the moment and he feels that she’s enough, really. But he also feels the need to know her, to  _just remember_ and it upsets him that he can’t.

But she’s  _real_ and she’s here and she makes him happy and she’s offering to sing for him so he just nods lazily at her suggestion.

She positions herself at the edge of his bed and starts singing, her fingers gently stroking his hair.

 

_Edelweiss, edelweiss, every morning you greet me_

 

Her voice is soft and easy, like her light brown curls.

 

_Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me_

 

And he is. He feels happy. To meet her, whoever she is.

 

_Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever_

 

He tries to recall her name. Her voice starts to quiver and he wonders why he feels like it’s happened before.

She stops singing after the first verse, turning her back on him but he sees her wipe something from her eyes. He feels an ache in his chest, like he’s responsible for her sadness, and an awkward minute of silence passes before he decides to speak up.

“I like that song. And that name. Edelweiss.”

“It’s very much like you, you know.”

“German?”

“No,” she chuckles, and he realizes how stupid it is to not even remember where he’s from.

“Noble. And pure. It’s what the flower signifies.” She says it like she means it, and like every other part of her, it feels true, so he believes without question.

“And did you know that edelweiss belongs to the genus  _Leontopodium_ , which comes from a Greek term that literally translates to ‘lion’s paw’, so maybe it’s your distant cousin or something,” her tone shifts to a faster one as she babbles on about this apparently significant flower. He notes that she’s more comfortable speaking that way, and that  _he’s_ more comfortable hearing her like that.

“Wow, how did you know that?”

She replies with a pained smile. She knows it because he did. He used to, at least.

He recognizes her restraint, so he reaches out for her hand to comfort her and says “Thank you, Jemma” and he feels both proud and confused saying that name for the first time.

“Jemma,” he says again, smiling, because the sound just feels right in his lips, like it’s the only thing he needs to remember, and because he’s grateful to finally put a real name on the girl who feels so true.

 

* * *

 

The next morning isn’t as bad as the last, but he still wakes up shaking, and a woman he doesn’t quite recognize is wrapping her arms around him and he suddenly feels better.

He asks who she is, and a tear rolls down her cheek before she can catch it. He sees pain in her eyes, but she forces a weak smile and asks if he wants to hear a song.

He nods, and she starts a melody that feels as familiar as the sadness in the voice that sings it.

 

_Edelweiss, edelweiss. Every morning you greet me._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are very much appreciated :)


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